Head Over Heels
by xSapphireShadowsx
Summary: AH, EB. Bella is the junior editor of a fashion magazine who dreams of one day buying the magazine and running it herself. But what happens when the owner of the parent company appoints his son Edward—who has no interest in the business at all—as the new editor-in-chief?


**AN: Hi! Just a fluffy little idea that occurred to me. Hope it's okay :)**

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Head over Heels

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Chapter 1:

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It always sucks to wake up in some random guy's bed, but it sucks even more when you're late for work, hung over, and today's the day you're supposed to meet your new boss.

"Oh shit," I said as my eyes snapped open and locked onto the LED alarm clock on the bedside table that obviously hadn't been set to go off. "Oh fuck."

I don't usually swear, but the occasion seemed to call for it. I had no idea where I even was, but there was an electric guitar resting against an amp in the corner and the bed smelled like guy, so it was probably safe to assume I didn't make it home last night.

But I didn't have time to think about it now.

I sprang out of the bed instantly and started scrabbling wildly for my clothes – which were scattered shamefully over the floor. My companion for last night had stirred at the movement and I heard a sleepy voice mumble from the bed as I got changed.

"What's the rush, babe?"

I felt a flash of irritation at the nonchalant tone. It was Monday morning. What else could the rush be about? I don't usually go out drinking Sunday night with work in the morning, but I don't usually get passed over for a dream promotion because the son of some CEO needs a little business training at the magazine where I happen to love to work.

"I told you," I muttered. "Today's the day we get a new boss."

"Oh yeah," he murmured. "Forgot."

God, what a mistake last night was.

Fragments of the prior night were coming back to me as I buttoned up my rumbled blouse. Clubbing with a couple girlfriends, a few tequila shots too many, an aspiring musician named Jake. One minute I was pouring out my broken heart over how much I'd _earned_ that promotion and how _unfair _it was that it got snatched away – and the next minute I was making out with him at the table like a skank. I hadn't had a drunk hookup since college, so maybe I was overdue.

In any case, here I was, scrambling into these day old clothes that I was going to have to go to work in. All I could say about the situation was at least he was hot.

At least he had been last night when I was drunk. Buttoning up my pants, I turned to look at my date. He was laying face down in the pillow with the sheets half way down his tanned and muscular back. Short dark hair, cute face. He was actually quite a hunk—even sober—so it was somewhat amazing that he hadn't been able to get the job done last night. Maybe I'd been too upset, or maybe I was the kind of girl who preferred to, you know, actually be in love with her sexual partners. Either way, the lack of anything approaching orgasm made the whole morning seem just a little bit shittier.

"Hey listen," I said, "I'm outta here, alright?"

He didn't look up, or even open his eyes. "Okay," he said, mumbling into the pillow. "So, uh…can I see you again?"

"Yeah, sure, gimme a call some time," I said, and then I hurried out before the meat-head could compute that I'd never given him my number.

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I was already late, and there was supposed to be a meeting first thing in the morning. I spent the first half of the drive debating whether I should detour home for a change of clothes at the very least, but it would've taken me too far out of my way. I couldn't afford to be late, not today. The new boss—if you could call him that—wasn't going to last forever, and I had to show the office that I was still fit for promotion – even if that meant showing up late in stale clothes with my hair unwashed.

So I arrived at the building only about half an hour late, and quickly ducked into the public bathroom on the ground floor to pee—oh god I was busting—and to appraise my face in the mirror.

It didn't look good. Puffy eyes, lipstick residue, smeared mascara. I grabbed a wad of toilet paper and wiped myself down with cold water. There was nothing I could do about my dull and lanky hair, but my hair was my best feature. Long, dark, chocolaty waves – even on my worst days it looked kind of okay. I fluffed it with my hands and combed it a bit with my fingers.

My clothes seemed somewhat passable as well. Black pants and blazer, indigo silk blouse. It was more or less work clothes, since it had been a spur of the moment decision to go out last night. My jacket smelled a bit like tequila and cologne, but hopefully I could make it through the day without people sniffing me.

The elevator doors were closing as I jogged over awkwardly in my heels.

"Hold the elevator!"

A hand reached out and pushed the sliding metal door back – and as it did a man was revealed.

I actually stumbled slightly.

Something about him caught me across the chin and a wave of something weird washed over me. I stumbled to a halt and entered the elevator awkwardly. He was the only occupant. He wore a loose fitting dark colored suit and no tie. The top couple buttons of his shirt were undone. His face was beautiful in a masculine way, with firm aquiline features, and his bronze hair was short and perfectly styled.

_Oh. My. God._

The words rang quite clearly in my head. Love at first sight, perhaps? A girl can dream, but probably anything in a skirt—or day-old slacks—would experience a similar sensation when laying eyes on a guy like this. He looked like the kind of man all women suspect might exist out there somewhere but none have ever seen before outside of romance novels. He was seriously that good-looking.

"Thanks," I said, blushing like goof. "I'm in such a rush. My alarm didn't go off this morning, I'm so late."

He smiled at me, giving my wrinkled outfit a skeptical once over, and reached for the number plate.

"Floor?"

"Uh, fifth floor, thanks."

His glance had seemed a little pointed, and I realized that part of my blouse was untucked. I hadn't seen it in the mirror, but I saw it now, and I chuckled embarrassedly as he watched me tuck it into my pants.

"God, I must look like a mess," I said. "I hardly had a chance to even look in the mirror this morning. Didn't even get to shower. Hell, of a way to meet your new boss, right?"

The walls of the elevator were shiny gold, and I took a moment to examine my clothes in the reflection. Everything else seemed to be in order, but somehow I doubted he was as impressed with my appearance as I was with his. My body was nice, though, and my pants fit well.

"New boss?" he inquired.

The elevator began humming and I turned back to him. My stomach lurched, either at the ascent or at his insanely good looks, I had no idea.

Probably his looks.

"Yeah, I work for the magazine upstairs," I said. "Some jerk's coming in this morning to take over and ruin everything. He's the son of the guy who owns the place or some other nepotistic bullshit."

"Nepotistic," he repeated. "Clever word."

I blushed with delight. Yay. The cute guy thinks I'm clever.

But I refrained from giggling like a schoolgirl, and went on with my usual rant concerning my views on the new boss. "It just sucks that a guy with no experience and no passion for the business can just waltz in and start running things all because his daddy said so. Why can't he work for a job like the rest of us? I lost a promotion because of them asshole."

He smiled. He had both hands in his pockets, and his posture was relaxed, informal, quite attractive. He was looking up at the floor counter and he replied without looking at me. I checked out his ass quickly; not bad.

"Well, I'm sure he's as unenthusiastic about it as you," he said. "Men seldom dream of entering the fashion industry."

I snorted. "Yeah," I said. "I just hope he doesn't screw everything up, that's all. But, uh, how'd you know it was a fashion magazine?"

At this point the elevator doors slid open and he stepped out – onto the exact same floor as me.

"Because I'm the new editor," he said. "Edward Cullen. Nice to meet you, Ms…?"

_Oh. My. God._

The office was buzzing with activity. People were looking over at the man who'd stepped out of the elevator who was their new boss, pointing discreetly, whispering among themselves. I was staring, too.

Dimly, I realized that I'd been talking shit about him directly to his face, but that wasn't what bothered me. What bothered me was that I had decided to hate this man – and my boobs were tingling from standing next to him in an elevator.

So I set my face in a cold mask and replied with cold civility.

"Swan," I said. "Junior editor."

He smiled. It was a cocky, superior smile—almost a smirk—and it made me want to slap him. "Well, rest assured, Ms Swan," he said. "As one of my junior editors, I want you to know that I'm taking my new position seriously and I have no intention of screwing everything up, as you put it. I'll admit that I have little passion for the fashion business, but looking at you dressed like that, I'd have to wonder if you have any either."

I was mortified.

My passion.

He questioned.

But it wasn't my fault! Usually I dress impeccably, with the grace, style, and elegance befitting the refined personality of a responsible young woman. It wasn't my fault I'd gotten drunk and spent the night with some random dude who looked like he hadn't been woken up early since he lived with his mother.

I was still standing there stunned as he turned to go. The image of his smirk was burnt into my mind and my face had gone from super cold to super hot all in an instant. My eyes were boring into his back and my chest felt tight.

Well, if it wasn't certain before, it was certain now.

Edward Cullen is my mortal enemy.

And goddamn that motherfucker was cute.

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**AN: So, worth continuing? Let me know! :)**


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